


.Hello, Teen Crisis Hotline.

by The_Wild_Sophia



Category: Clone High
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, a bit of angst, idk how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26727994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wild_Sophia/pseuds/The_Wild_Sophia
Summary: Joan had asked you to work the hotline tonight, and that might have been the best decision of your life.
Relationships: Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 80





	.Hello, Teen Crisis Hotline.

When Joan had come to you asking that you help her out with the Teen Crisis Hotline you couldn’t say no. You weren’t the closest of friends, but the two of you had an unspoken rule that if shit were to hit the fan, you’d have the others’ back. Or in this case, if one needed help with something, the other would do what they could to help. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you were thrilled when she asked you to help her out. You had always wanted to do something to help those who are struggling mentally since you knew how serious and overlooked mental health was. 

Joan had specifically asked that you help out with the hotline the day of JFK’s party, which you quickly agreed to. It wasn’t like you were going to that party. 

But you figured she probably was going, despite her saying she wasn’t, to try and get Abe to notice her. Seriously, she could do  _ sooo  _ much better. 

It was a little past 7pm when you had gotten the first call. It was a female talking about how difficult her school work was becoming and how stressed she was becoming because of it. You talked to her for about 45 minutes, comforting her and giving her tips on how to stay organized and study. 

After that it was quiet for the next couple hours and you were doing school work during that time. Gandhi had forwarded a call to you around 10pm without a heads up and your phone began ringing. You answered it with a cheerful,

“Hello, Teen Crisis Hotline. How may I help you?” 

“Hello?” The person answered. Their voice was deep and slightly raspy, yet it didn’t sound especially masculine. 

“ Hello,” You greeted again, “Are you alright?” The person sighs before answering,

“For the most part, yeah.” Okay, definitely a guy. 

“I-Um,” The guy continued, “Am I on…speaker phone?” What was this guy talking about? 

“No, you’re not on speaker phone.” You responded. You heard the guy shift on the phone before saying, 

“Good, the last person I talked to had me on speaker,” You heard his voice crack, “There were a lot of people who laughed at me because of it.” You were pissed at Gandhi. You knew he was an ass that didn’t care about the hotline, but you didn’t think that he would do something as shitty as that. 

“Gandhi put you on speaker?” You asked, not even think about it.

“Yeah…” He sighed. 

“God what an ass,” You said before you even realized it, “I mean-I’m sorry that he did that to you. I can assure you that you’re not on speaker and I’m the only one here.” You corrected yourself. You heard the guy chuckle before saying, 

“No you’re right, he really is an ass.” You giggled to yourself before remembering what you were here to do.

“So, how are you feeling?” You asked. The guy was quiet for a while before answering you. 

“I’ve…been better,” He said, “It’s just…okay, I already have depression and for a while it wasn’t too bad; I was able to kinda keep it in check. Lately, however, it hasn’t exactly been that easy.” 

“Ah, I understand what you mean. Do you have any idea why it’s been getting worse?” You asked. He was quiet for a moment and you were worried that you had struck a nerve. 

“I do,” He began, “Ever since I’ve gone here, I’ve been kinda…‘harassed?’ I’m not sure if that’s really the best word but recently it’s been getting worse.”

“Would you mind telling me who’s doing this?” You asked when you thought he was done. 

“Um, yeah, I would. I-I don’t want to call anyone out.” He said. You were a bit upset that he didn’t tell you since you couldn’t help him if you didn’t know who was doing this to him, but at the same time you understood. 

“Okay, that’s fine, I understand. Do you…have any support? Like from your family or some close friends?” You asked. 

“Well, my foster parents are okay. They care about me and I know it, but I don’t think they really  _ love  _ me. As for friends…” He paused and sighs, “I’m not really good at making connections with people, so I don’t really have any friends; besides maybe the people I work with in class.” You were quiet, making sure he was done, before continuing. 

“Alright. I do want to know, how do you deal with this harassment?” You questioned and once again he was quiet for a moment. 

“I, uh, don’t really do anything? Like, if you’re asking what I say to them then I don’t say anything. But if you’re asking how I cope with everything…” He trailed off.

“How do you cope?” You asked him. You heard him shift again yet he remained quiet, “Do I need to be concerned?” You inquired after your mind had thought of the worst. 

“No, no, I just…I listen to music a lot,” He started, but you didn’t say anything to try and get him to speak more.

“That and, uh, I cry…a lot. Sometimes I just turn the lights off in my room and cry. It’s…comforting in a way. I don’t know how to explain it.” He choked out, his voice cracking a few times. 

“I understand what you mean,” You say, trying to comfort him, “Sometimes it just feels nice to let everything out. Personally something I do is get in the shower clothed and just…cry, letting everything out. I know it sounds odd but, for someone who cries to cope, this is one of the best pieces of advice I can give you.” You explain to him. You hear him chuckle on the other side of the phone. 

“I’ve actually heard that one before,” He said, and you imagined that he had a smile on his face, “I haven’t done it before though. Everytime I’m hit with one of those emotional outbreaks I’m just too tired to start a shower.” 

“It really do be like that sometimes.” You say with a dopey smile. 

“Yeah,” He sighed, “One of the only ways I was able to…to cling to my sanity was that no one known how miserable I truly am. But it would seem that I lost that since Gandhi put me on speaker phone.” He admitted with a sniffle at the end. 

You were quiet for a moment. 

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” You quietly inquired. You heard him suck in a breath and shift again.

“How did you know? How could you tell?” He quickly questioned. 

“It wasn’t too hard for me to piece it together,” You began, “You said that your foster parents do care about you, but not in a familiar way which had probably created a border between you and them. You also mentioned how it’s difficult to form connections with others, so you most likely don’t have anyone in the school to talk to. The fact that you called the hotline in the first place also suggests this. Therefore, you probably spend a lot of time by yourself, and no matter how much of an introvert someone is, being alone for that long would eventually get…lonely.” You finished, waiting for him to say something. Maybe you went too far with that analysis?

“Wow that’s…impressive that you were able to determine that so quickly.” He said. 

“Was I right?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He answered. The two of you were quiet for a while before you asked him,

“Could you tell me your name?” This whole time you were trying to determine who you were talking to. Right now, you’ve managed to narrow your list down to four people: Issac Newton, Charles Darwin, Vincent Van Gogh, or Ludwig Von Beethoven. 

He hesitated for a moment before answering you.

“I’m Van Gogh, Vincent Van Gogh.” 

“Called it.” You said in your head, smiling. 

“I see,” You say, “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Van Gogh.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Van Gogh greets. 

You thought about where to go from there until an idea pops into your head. A devious smile spreads over your face before you speak. 

“You know what I think you need, Van Gogh?” You heard him hum in question, “A little bit of revenge on Gandhi. I’m 97% sure that’ll bring your spirits up.” 

“What are you suggesting?” He asked, and you would hear the smirk in his voice. 

“You are an artist, aren’t you? Well, it’s your lucky day because I’m the clone of F/N L/N, one of the best acrylic painters in history.” You announce before continuing, “I’m suggesting that we make a…memorial of Gandhi, commemorating his work for the hotline.” It was quiet for a few seconds before Van Gogh asked, 

“What floor are you on?” 

“Floor 5, room 18. I have a shit ton of acrylics and spray paint. If you’ve got gouache, bring it.” You answered quickly. 

“Be there in 5 minutes.” He said before hanging up. 

You laughed as you quickly got your shoes on and gathered your spray paints in a duffle bag, putting your acrylics and brushed in a plastic container. You slung the duffle bag over your shoulder when you heard a knock at your door. You answered it, being greeted by Van Gogh in all his tiny glory. 

“You bring the gouache?” You asked while locking your dorm’s door. 

“I’ve got gouache, oil, and acrylics.” He answered with a smirk. You smiled and couldn't help the heat that rushed to your face. He was so adorable. Yet so… _ despicable _ .

“Got any complaints about stopping by that party real quick? It’ll be easy to get in there since it’s late and they’re probably hammered by now.” You suggested, glancing over at him to gauge his reaction. 

“Lead the way.” Was his answer. You did as you were told, the two of you making your way over to JFK’s house as quickly as possible. You snuck in through the back -- you had to help him over the fence -- and from there you two looked for Gandhi. 

Van Gogh had spotted him first; he was talking to Joan, something about screwing herself over. Joan had quickly removed his belt and Gandhi said something but you weren’t in range to hear it before she held up his boxers -- which you assumed to be his. His pants fell and you looked away as he was quickly…“exposed” by her. 

“Ah, good thing there was no one around to see that.” Was all you heard from him as he turned around and walked away. 

“Oh yes,” You heard Van Gogh say next to you, “No one, indeed.” He finished while looking at you with a smirk. You smirked yourself when it clicked in your head what he was planning to do. 

“I’ve got just the place.” You said while getting the two of you out of the party. 

Next thing you knew, you two were in front of a wall that the majority of students walked by when going from their dorms to the school. The two of you started on your painting and it took you close to three hours to finish it, but it was very much worth it. You and Van Gogh signed it at the bottom and had even taken Van Gogh’s photo with it. 

It was past 2am when everything was said and done, so the two of you made your way back over to your dorms. You walked with him to his dorm, chatting with him the whole time. 

It was weird; it felt as if you had known him for years, the conversation between you two coming so naturally, yet you had only known him for a few hours. 

When you had reached his dorm you asked, 

“Hey, what time do you leave to go to school?” 

“Around 7am, why?” He answered.

“Great, I’ll be here at 7 to walk with you,” You said while turning and making your way to your own dorm, “Goodnight, Van Gogh, see ya’ tomorrow!” You shouted back at him. Van Gogh smiled to himself, face warm.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He said. You turned and smiled at him before turning the corner and heading up stairs.

Even after you had gotten back, set everything down and changed you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was so lovable, how could anyone make fun of him? You figured people saw him as an easy target since he’s usually quiet and passive. 

But you’d make sure he’s treated better. That was your final thought before drifting to sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~

Staying true to your word, you made sure you had gotten up early -- only getting like 4 hours of sleep -- to walk Van Gogh to school. When you had made it to his dorm he was already waiting for you, and it was only 6:50am. 

The two of you made your way to the school, talking the whole way. Your conversation quieted down when you turned the corner that had the painting on it. 

There was a crowd of students laughing and taking pictures. Looking through the sea of students you saw Gandhi, slack-jawed and in awe. You quickly pointed him out to Van Gogh and the laugh that left his lips was a nerdy, yet adorable and just  _ perfect  _ to you. 

The two of you continued to walk by and people cheered for you both.

“See, look: they like you.” You say while nudging his shoulder. His face blossoms in this bright pinkish-peach color that you have never seen before and the same chuckle leaves his lips again. Your stomach did flips and your face felt hot. 

“Thanks, Van Gogh, Y/N!” You heard Joan yell from somewhere, but you were too focused on Van Gogh to care. It was his voice that brought you out of your dazed state.

“Thank you, Y/N, for helping me and all.” He said while rubbing the back of his neck. You cheeks were sore, but that didn’t stop you from smiling one last time.

“No problem, Van Gogh.”


End file.
